The Snake Wars Part II: The Sand and the Sky
by tancredi
Summary: Harry Potter / Naruto Crossover: The story continues
1. Chapter 1

1

دمشق، مدينة الياسمين

Damascus, City of Jasmine.

The _muezzin_ began his call to the faithful.

His voice embraced the words, stretching them, imbuing them with a passion that could make the stoniest heart weep. _Allahu Akbar_, he called. God is Great. He was joined by a thousand others, every one of them different, every one of them the same, crying the cry heard for over a thousand years, laid down by the Prophet. They made their testimony, affirming the truth that every Muslim knows. The call continued. _Haya 'ala-salah_, the cried. Come to Prayer. The Minaret of 'Issa, where the Messiah will appear on Judgement Day, shone brightly in the sun, towering over the Old City, leading the cry. _Laa Illahu Illa Allah_. There is no god but Allah.

The holy month of Ramadan was in its last days, and the streets were deserted. It was mid-afternoon, the hottest part of the day. Forbidden from food or drink, forbidden even a cigarette, many preferred to take a nap until sunset. The evenings were lively. Once the fast was broken, the streets came alive, as everyone rushed around, shopping for the Eid celebrations that would begin sometime next week.

Even the Christian area was quiet. The Christians did not fast, but they saw little reason to eat, drink or make merry while their Muslim neighbours did not. A few cafés were open, but the majority of customers were tourists. Some young men congregated on street corners, smoking and watching for any passing girls to wolf-whistle. But there was no real enthusiasm there. For the most part, they were just passing the time, waiting for the main event.

Anyone who knows Damascus knows what it means to wait. Waiting for prayer, waiting for Jum'ah. Waiting for Iftar, waiting for Eid. Waiting for service in a café, waiting for an official to do anything. Waiting for a customer to come to your shop, and waiting for your creditors to demand the money you borrowed. Waiting for things to get better, for the freedoms that others take for granted. Waiting for the knock at your door that means you'll never be seen again.

The greatest virtue among the Arabs is _Sabr_, patience, and its greatest exemplar was Ayyub, also called Job. To live in Damascus is to be patient, and hope that, _Inshallah_, things will change. To live in Damascus is to live in fear, never knowing if the person you see everyday is the same one who will turn you in. Hope and fear, too little of one and too much of the other. _Inshallah_, things will change, as the rumours whisper of a girl raped and killed and dumped behind a church because she dared to question authority, of men who called for justice now rotting beneath the desert, and the people of Hama weep for the dead. _Inshallah_, things will change, as the bombs rain on Iraq, as Palestinians fight with sticks and stones against tanks and jets, as brother murders brother and neighbour bombs neighbour in Lebanon. _Inshallah_.

* * *

><p>2.<p>

They had just broken their fast when the foreigner entered.

_Maghreb_ had come, and with it the time to eat and drink. On a large carpet in the centre of the room was a humble feast: dates, milk, some _'arq soos_, sheets of kamruddin, bread, hummous, some rice, some vegetables, bottles of water. Around it, the men sat and ate, talking about the trials of the day, wondering at the mysteries of fasting, discussing the football. In Damascus, as in many cities in the Middle-East, there is Real or Barça. Other teams barely register.

"_Assalaamu 'alaikum,_" said the foreigner.

"_Wa 'alaikum assalaam, wa rahmatullah wa barakatih._" Every person said the same words, without even looking at the new arrival. It took a few moments for them to realise that the man was foreign.

The owner of the shop grinned hugely and leapt to his feet, pulling the stranger by his arm and gesturing to sit. He summoned his middle son, a noted linguist, and asked the boy to translate. The foreigner stared, somewhat bemused, as the boy stood in front of him and asked, in halting and hesitating English, "Would please eating for Ramadan Fasting now?" His father looked on proudly. It was a blessing to feed a stranger during the holy month, especially if he could show the man the generosity and kindness of the Faithful. Perhaps he would return to his country and tell his people that Muslims are not terrorists and savages, but people of kindness and patience, always willing to help their fellow man.

Th foreigner continued to stare at the boy, who was now worried that he had made a mistake with his vocabulary. Then he looked to the boy's father, and in fluent Arabic replied: "I thank you, sir, for your kindness. I would be honored to eat with you."

Feeling a little foolish, the man served his guest food with his own hands. Everyone was now asking questions, the usual litany: where are you from, where is that, how long have you been in Syria, where did you learn Arabic, what religion are you... Many would find the questions irritating, but the foreigner understood it was merely the curiosity of people for whom the outside world was limited to Hollywood films and TV series.

Finally, the meal done, the men began to return to their work, though a few still lingered for a smoke and a coffee. The owner of the shop sat with his foreign guest, and asked "How may I help you? I have many fine items here, I'm sure I can find something you would like."

The foreigner smiled. "Actually, I was hoping to speak to Abu Samir."

The owner looked confused. "Abu Samir? I am Abu Samir. We are speaking!" He chuckled, pleased by his joke. The foreigner laughed politely. Abu Samir continued. "What did you wish to speak to Abu Samir about?"

The foreigner put his hand in his pocket, and withdrew a slender item. He showed it to Abu Samir, who gasped, then looked around nervously. "Put that away! Are you mad, to show that here? Leave this shop. I will meet you at Nawfarah in an hour." Nodding, the foreigner took his leave.

Abu Samir watched him go. "Baba, who was that man?"

He turned to his son and smiled. "Just a foreigner, my son. You know how they are."

* * *

><p>At Nawfarah, Abu Shady, the legendary <em>hakawati<em>, had begun his evening performance. He was telling a tale of a sultan's vizier, noted for his venality and lechery, and not a person in the room failed to recognise the caricature of a certain former president's brother, now in exile. The laughter was loud, drowning out all sounds of the _souq_ nearby.

Abu Samir sat down near the foreigner. The waiter came, and he swiftly ordered tea. His hands trembling slightly, he lit a cigarette, then he looked at his companion. "What is your name?"

The foreigner grimaced. "Here, they call me Yohannes."

"What do you want?"

Yohannes sighed. "I'm sorry to do this to you, Abu Samir. I know that things are difficult here, and that now is not a time to reawaken old friendships, but I need some information. I understand that some refugees from Iraq brought a large amount of books and treasures from the National Museum of Baghdad. I also heard that you had examined them. Is this true?"

Abu Samir nodded. "They were looted when they bombed the city. Staff had moved the most precious and most important items out, but when the bombs destroyed the main roads, it was impossible to keep track. Refugees were using the artifacts as currency before the _mukhabarat_ investigated."

The _hikawati_ had begun a new story, about an animal kingdom ruled by a proud lion. Yohannes sipped his tea. "Were there any items of a... special nature?"

Abu Samir smiled wryly. "So the rumour has already travelled that far... If I knew who had spread it, I would hand him over the the _mukhabarat_ myself. Yes, there were. And yes, the story is true. We found a copy of the _Kitab al-Azif_. Extant. Not a page missing. I did not read it myself, for obvious reasons, but I looked at the notes of one of researchers. He died a few days later, in very mysterious circumstances. Well, that is not too uncommon here, but I felt it was too much coincidence."

Yohannes let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. The _Kitab al-Azif_, the most dangerous book of Dark magic ever composed, and it had resurfaced now. Only once had it ever been used, and the consequences had even touched the Muggle world. If Riddle ever got his hands on it...

"Where is it now?"

Abu Samir shook his head. "I can't tell you that - "

"_Please!_ You must!"

Abu Samir didn't speak for a long moment. Finally, he looked at Yohannes. "It's guarded in a fortress in the mountains. It would take a full-scale invasion to even make it past the first ward, let alone the rest of it. Be at peace, Albus Dumbledore. Not even your old student will be able to reach it."

Yohannes looked surprised. Abu Samir sneered. "Yes, I recognise you. Did you really think I'm such a fool that I would not know you? You can hide your name, change your face, but my eye sees through all disguises. That is the gift Allah has given me. Leave this city, Albus Dumbledore. We Arabs are sick of your wars, your conflicts, your pettiness and your arrogance. All you have ever brought us is grief and misery. We will guard the secrets well, and you will never trouble us again."

Feeling as though he had been punched in the stomach, Albus Dumbledore rose. Perhaps the man was right – certainly Europe had brought the Middle-East nothing but conflict, a poor way to repay them for their teaching. But it was a hard thing to hear it from a man he had once admired.

Abu Samir watched him leave. He frowned. Age had made him short-tempered, but he had still been rude to speak that way.

He watched the _hikawati_ tell his tales. Nothing left now but to wait.

Until someone else came.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"You're insane."

"Maybe. But I'm also right. A decisive move at a time like this would send a message across the world. We cannot afford to let them regroup like this. Unless we strike now, we will lose."

"What does _he_ say to that?"

"_He_ charged me with prosecuting the war here. He needs time to carry out his plans elsewhere. That is our duty."

There was silence for a moment. "Very well. Let's say you're right. How, pray tell, are we supposed to carry this off?"

He smiled. "Remember, remember, the fifth of November..."

* * *

><p>Neville was bored. He had drawn guard duty for the next month, and so stood by the door keeping track of everyone around him and occasionally reciting the alphabet backwards to ease the monotony.<p>

"Neville, come in. Do you read me, over?"

He tapped his wand to his throat. "Roger, Commander. I read you, over."

"Stay alert there. Intel says today's the day, over."

"Roger that. Do we have anything more about the details, over?"

"Negative. Over and out."

Neville tapped his throat again, then checked the time. Close to midday. He signalled for a relief guard, then walked towards the stairs. A patrol would at least keep him moving.

He walked out of the building and on to the busy street, affecting a casual air, quietly making note of faces, gaits and anything that seemed out of place. Then he saw him. _No... it can't be... _He began to run, but was too slow. The man had disappeared into the crowds. Neville stopped and spun around, searching everywhere in frustration. He remembered the face vividly from all those years ago, but he had been certain that man was dead.

Then the explosion happened.

* * *

><p>"Ron, I'm not crazy, I'm not sick and I didn't get any injuries to anything. I saw him. It was definitely him."<p>

Ron Weasley, Operational Captain of the Wizarding Special Forces, looked dubious. Hermione Granger, Head of Intelligence, was trembling. And Harry Potter, Commander-in-Chief of the Wizarding Combined Forces, gave absolutely nothing away.

Harry spoke first. "We're not saying that, Neville. But how can you be sure? You admit, you only saw him for a moment. He's been presumed dead since the Diagon Alley fiasco, and we've had nothing from anyone about him."

Neville shook his head. "There are three people I will _never_ forget. One is Bellatrix Lestrange. The other is Voldemort himself. And the third... You all know how dangerous he was. Remember what he almost did to Hermione?"

Ron cut in. "Yes, I remember. But how does this all tie together? How can we be sure this isn't exactly what they want us to do – chase after a dead man while the real culprit is free to strike again?"

Neville said nothing. There was no answer there.

Hermione finally spoke. "Remember, remember, the fifth of November..."

Ron and Neville looked at her in confusion. "Are you OK?" said Ron, carefully.

Hermione shook her head absently. "Fifth of November. Guy Fawkes. He tried to blow up Parliament."

Harry stared at her. "And?"

Hermione looked at him evenly. "Something is odd here, and this is the only lead we have. We have to go with what Neville saw."

Ron frowned. "Fine. But we will continue to look at other possibilities. I can't rule out that it was an inside job. Neville, go through the story with Hermione again. I can't assign you to this, I need you back on duty."

Neville grimaced. "Who then?"

Ron turned to Hermione. "This will have to be yours. I can only authorise one more person, so choose well. And tell the Konoha people. There's a new intelligence attaché, so that will be a starting point. Keep me posted."

Ron left. Harry made to follow, then turned back to Hermione. "Be careful. He was one of Voldemort's very best."

Hermione smiled ruefully. "You don't have to tell me. I know better than you do."

* * *

><p>"<em>Lumos.<em>"

She clambered over the wreckage. They had been in the middle of transferring to the new office, so much had already been moved, but this particular file had been left behind. Moving to where it used to be kept, she looked with dismay at the mass of twisted metal, burnt paper and ash. She began to shift through the area, summoning papers that looked likely, but there seemed nothing for her.

As she was about to go, she spotted a heavy filing cabinet lying under several tons of masonry. She looked at the heap thoughtfully. Perhaps...

It would have to be timed excellently. She looked for something she could use to fill the gap. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

"_Accio_ Cabinet! _Depulso_ Shelves!"

She focused her mind on both spells, sweating from the effort. The cabinet came free, and in the split second before the masonry came crashing down, the broken shelves hurtled into the gap. The rubble shifted, strained, then stopped. It looked like she was safe for a little while.

Pulling open the drawers, she was relieved to see her gamble had paid off. She pulled out the file she needed, then swiftly moved to the exit.

Safely back inside her office, she opened the file, and there he was. A face that still made her wake in a cold sweat.

Antonin Dolohov. Russian-born, Hogwarts-educated. One of the very first Death-Eaters. Over 100 confirmed kills to his name.

Settling herself down, she began to read.


	3. Chapter 3

They faced each other.

The buzzing of the crowd had died down. The bets had all been placed. Eyes narrowed, watching for the split-second that would make the difference.

The two contestants made no sudden moves. They eased themselves into position, hands relaxed, floating. Their eyes locked, neither willing to back down, neither willing to look away.

When it came, it was almost an anticlimax. One of them moved, his hand a blur. Then he fell. The other stood, arm out. The buzzing began again as they analysed what they had just seen. She outdrew him, one said, moving so fast none of us could see it. No, said another, he had been watching and saw no blur of movement. Ah, perhaps she had summoned it to her hand, said one. Impossible - no one can cast two spells so quickly. Besides, the wand didn't move. Perhaps a teleportation charm? Or an illusion?

While they talked, Hermione walked from the stage, returning her wand to its holster. The truth was prosaic - she'd simply palmed her wand while her opponent was focused on her eyes, then knocked him down. Far from trying to draw on her first, he was trying to get his wand up in time after he realised she had cast a spell. _Next time it won't be so easy_, she thought.

It was her fourth time at the dueling club, and she still didn't see the attraction. The club was new - barely a year old, founded by renegades and heretics (as they called themselves) from the Old Dueling Club, who wanted a more practical and combat-based sport than the traditions permitted. There was a war on. A fight wouldn't be the chivalrous, and often childish, exchange of the past, but a life-or-death struggle. Speed was the key. No wasting time with defense - outdraw your opponent and knock them dead with a Killing Curse. After all, it wasn't just wizards who you might face - a shinobi was faster, stronger, fitter and more ruthless, with thousands of kills to their names. The old ways wouldn't cut it, not for them.

Hermione understood the argument, but still found the whole exercise puzzling. Wizards, in her view, had a love for ritual and ceremony, and an essential conservatism that blinded them. In theory, the only curse used at the New Dueling Club was a non-verbal Avada Kedavra - non-verbal in order to weaken the curse; however, most participants resorted to a Stunning spell because it was faster to say, and many lacked either the power or the intention to throw a real killing curse. And the set-up had essentially turned what was supposed to be 'real' combat into a quick-draw match. The New Duelists would have little trouble facing a single opponent, but would be easy meat on a battlefield. She kept these thoughts to herself, even at work - a number of the Wizarding Special Forces were enthusiastic participants (including Ginny, of all people!), and to voice her feelings would have started a long, and ultimately pointless, row.

Still, the mix of people there meant it was a good place to make contacts. Many of the younger pure-bloods congregated there, and if she kept her head down she could pick up a lot of information. She wore Millicent Bulstrode's face - the real Millicent was currently assigned to the Eastern Front, and no one knew she had joined the Specials.

Walking to the bar, she smiled as she saw her target. Alexey Ponyryov, officially a cultural attache at the Russian embassy, unofficially the liaison for the Russian Special Auror Squad, and known to the WSF as an active Death-Eater.

She wandered over to him. Ponyryov grinned at her. "My, my, so skilled and so young. Let me toast your victory, Ms. ...?"

"Millicent."

His grin grew broader. "Ah, she of the gentle gait. A fitting title for a beauty." He turned to the bar. "Two Finlandias and a bottle of D.P., if you will!"

Hermione moved closer to him. "You may not remember, but we have met before."

Ponyryov nodded, still smiling. "I do, but you were a little younger then. Not in the full bloom. But here you are, a veritable rose."

Hermione blushed, not an easy task given her revulsion. Millicent had undergone a long and strenuous interrogation about her contact with Death Eaters when she joined. Ron had instantly distrusted her, and tried to persuade Moody to let him torture her to test her loyalties. Luckily, some Veritaserum was available. Much of her contact had been low-level, but she gave details of a banquet at the Malfoy Manor, where she had met many of Voldemort's followers, before he had transformed to his current incarnation. Among the details was that Ponyryov had tried to rape her, but had been stopped by Antonin Dolohov. "It is nice to see you again."

Ponyryov's smile never slipped. "Indeed. We have much to discuss - I felt a strong connection between us since that evening. I regret what happened; in my passion I forgot that you were unused to such things, and I fear I overstepped my bounds. You seemed so mature, so... wordly, that I wished to prove my sentiment was not merely the fatuous flirtation of a callow youth, but something more... substantial. I apologise sincerely if I caused you any harm."

Hermione's act did not shake, but inwardly she was furious. Ponyryov had bound Millicent and tried to use the Imperius curse. When that didn't work, he used the Cruciatus curse to grind down her resistance, before trying to force-feed her a love potion. Her screams had drawn Dolohov, who took one look at the scene and carved a hole in Ponyryov's chest before torturing _him_ in turn. Never harm a pure-blood, he said. If you want pleasure, use a Mudblood instead. "Well, that was a long time ago. And as you can see, I am older and wiser now."

The smile slipped. "Ah, I can see. And lovely as you are, I fear that you are too worldly for me. I have always been drawn to the unplucked flower, the young and tender rose no hand has touched."

Hermione giggled. "I did not say I had been... plucked. I merely remarked that I understood things better."

The smile returned, as if it had never gone. "Forgive me, my dove. I have nearly wronged you again. But then may I suggest we take this conversation somewhere more... private? This is no place to discuss the affairs of the heart."

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "Excellent. I have a room at the inn in Knockturn Alley, number 13. I shall return there forthwith - perhaps you could join me there in half an hour? I must, you see, make my quarters presentable for a young lady." With that, he left, still smiling.

Hermione downed one of the vodkas. _Hooked him_.

* * *

><p>Arriving at the inn, the first thing she noticed was how quiet everything was. There were no staff at the desk, no guests in the lobby. She walked up the stairs to number 13, noting that no other room was taken. Then she knocked.<p>

"Enter!"

The door swung open. "Ah, my dove, do not take it for exaggeration when I say that I missed you greatly." The smile was there, oily as ever. "Perhaps I can offer you a drink?"

Hermione nodded. As he turned, she eased her wand into her hand, and slowly raised her arm.

BANG! The Disarming spell knocked her across the room, wand flying from her grasp. A moment later, she felt a Full Body-Bind close on her. Unable to move, she watched him stalk towards her. He was still smiling. "Foolish, foolish. We have all night. But first, let me see who you really are. The real Millicent Bulstrode would never have approached me."

He waved his wand. Hermione felt the effect of the Polyjuice potion slip away, her face and body returning to normal. "Ah, but this is far better. You are a real beauty, Ms Granger. And my good friend Antonin will be most pleased to see you. But I shall not call him yet. You are, after all, merely a Mudblood, and a man has needs. Before I deliver you to Antonin, you and I will dance a dance, sweet girl." He flicked his wand. She floated into the air. He made a slashing motion. She felt her robes cut away, leaving her in her underwear. "What a sight. Truly a vision of beauty." He looked her in the eye. He flicked his wand again. He had partially released the Body-Bind to leave her able to talk, and, if he had his way, scream. He smiled at her again. "It is good you aren't afraid. I like a girl with spirit."

She smiled back. He walked towards her, tracing a dirty fingernail along her cheek, down her neck, to her breasts and lower. "Now where shall we start, my darling?"

She looked him in the eye. "How about with you hanging from your neck?"

He blinked. Suddenly, she moved. Dropping to the ground, she knocked the wand out of his hand. Three quick strikes, and he flew into the wall. She was on him a moment later, punching and kicking. Then she stood. Summoning her wand, she conjured new robes, then pointed at the door. It burst open, and a shinobi ran in. Ponyryov tried to rise, blood streaming from his face, only to be pinned by several kunai. Hermione twirled her wand. Ponyryov's face was a mask of fear. "How?!"

It was Hermione's turn to smile. "Breaking a Full-Body Bind is difficult for a wizard, but nothing to a shinobi. And I've been lucky enough to pick up some tricks." She leaned in, tracing her fingernail along his cheek. "And all that fun you wanted? I think it was a marvellous plan. Why don't we get started?"

She stood. "Oh, this is my good friend Aburame Shino. Please get to know him well."

Shino stepped forward. The bugs streamed from his arms and swarmed towards Ponyryov.

He screamed.


	4. Chapter 4

The cheap Muggle alarm clock was ringing.

He opened his eyes and began his morning routine.

First, the core. He tensed his stomach, holding for a count of one hundred, then relaxing. Then the legs. Then the arms.

He rose, and bent forward, touching his toes. He lay back again, drew his legs in, and lifted his body, supporting himself on his head and feet in a perfect bridge, arms folded. He counted to one thousand, then placed his hands by his head. He pushed himself up, standing on his hands, and flipped forwards. Standing, he began his breathing exercises.

Moving to the jug of water, he drained the contents.

Time for the calisthenics. He extended his arms above his head, then dropped into a press up, his knuckles hitting the floor. He pushed himself to complete one hundred. Flipping on to his back, he lifted his legs and upper body, bringing the knees to the elbows, repeating until he had done another hundred. He stood. In an explosive movement, he dropped to the floor, legs shooting out behind him and snapping back. From the floor, he leapt straight up, knees drawing to his chest. Another hundred.

Sweating freely, he walked to the bar. He jumped and hung from it, then slowly pulled himself up, then pushed his body higher until his arms locked out. Fifty repetitions.

Dropping down, he moved to his bag and took out his rope. A few experimental swings, then he began to skip, two feet, then shuffling, then crossovers. Always changing, always moving. Never resting

He had been skipping for half an hour when the knock came. He ignored it. It came again, more insistent. It could wait. Training was more important.

He lifted the sandbag and hung it from the bar. For the next half an hour, he went through his techniques, hitting the bag with single and combination hits until it ripped apart. He contemplated it as the mixture of sand, gravel and iron dust streamed on the floor. Then he sighed.

Stripping, he went to the bathroom and filled the bucket with water. Quickly, he washed himself, then took the razor and shaved as best as he could with no mirror. He cursed as he nicked himself. _Today, I buy a fucking mirror. No messing around._

When he was dressed, he grabbed some money, a phone and his wand. Finally ready, he opened the door.

"Your dedication does you credit, Toshka. But you keep me waiting like that, one day I'll cut your fucking eyes out."

He ignored the threat. "I'm not a young man anymore. And I need to train to keep up with shits like you."

His guest laughed. "You are doing well though. There are plenty of chuunin who would struggle with your routine without using chakra. Maybe even some jounin."

The guest walked into the room, though cell would have been a better word. Large, but no furnishings, beyond a mattress on the floor, a pull-up bar with a broken sandbag hanging from it, a parafin stove, and a small cupboard. He knew that through the second door was a clean, but basic, bathroom.

"You shouldn't have cleaned up, Toshka. You'll need to wash again after we're done."

His host shrugged, but said nothing. The guest nodded. Then he attacked.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, they were sipping tea and smoking. "You have become very skillful, Toshka. I think I can return to the Boss and tell him your training is complete."<p>

His host was impassive. "Aliosha was acting oddly last night. He told me he had captured an agent, but when I met him, he said she had overpowered him and escaped."_  
><em>

The guest pursed his lips. "You think it was a set-up?"

The host nodded. "Aliosha is a tough bastard. He did six years in the gulag before. Hard man to break."

The guest looked puzzled. "I thought he was a Auror?"

His host smiled. "He is. He bribed the whores at the ministry to destroy his records. But he knows what it is to be tortured. He wouldn't break. And his mind is too strong for a memory charm to work. I think one of yours must have done something."

The guest frowned. "Did you notice anything else that was odd?"

The host thought. "Bugs."

"What do you mean?"

"There were some insects. But Aliosha was always clean. Even if he had some unusual hobbies with young girls. He was always very clean."

The guest considered this. "There is a clan, from the fire country. They can use insects for a number of purposes. If he was the one, then Aliosha would not have kept any secrets."

He rose. "Our lessons are over, Toshka. You are on your own again. The Boss cannot commit any shinobi here. I will ask him to send reinforcements as soon as possible. We have concluded a treaty with the Voivode, and he will lend his forces to us. It may be that some can be assigned to you. Until then, stay ahead of the hunters."

He moved to the door. "Good luck, Toshka."

Antonin Dolohov watched him leave. Then he got to work, destroying all traces of his time in that basement. He had to move fast.

* * *

><p>Hermione waited in the anteroom. Her new, for want of a better word, partner, Aburame Shino, waited with her.<p>

Shino, she had decided, was creepy.

It wasn't just the insects (though a very big part was the insects). Nor was it the sunglasses, though she admitted that she was not too keen on seeing what lay underneath them. It was that he never, ever, talked. Prying a sentence out of him took more effort than lifting a mountain. And there was less reward for it.

She missed working with Hinata. At least they could talk to each other. Shikamaru wasn't too bad either, though occasionally insufferable. Rock Lee was overly earnest, but still engaging, and she particularly enjoyed counselling him on his love life. The boy needed more confidence. And to be less corny. And maybe some tweezers. While Naruto was... well, Naruto was Naruto. But all of them were better than the current pick.

The door opened, and Ron was there. He winked at her. "The Chief will see you now."

At the long table, Harry and Moody looked up from the plans. Moody quickly began to pack them away. "So we'll resume this later, sir."

Harry winced. "Professor, please don't call me that."

Moody grimaced. "Whatever we may have been, that was then. There is an order that must be maintained. Remember that, bo- I mean, please remember that, sir."

He left. Harry frowned at him, then turned to Hermione. "Bad enough I spent a year hero-worshipping him only to find out I'd never met him. Now, he calls me sir. Sir!"

Hermione smiled. "Well, _sir_, he has a point, _sir_!"

Harry shot her a filthy look. Ron struggled not to laugh. "Well, let's have it then."

Looking at Shino, she realised he would be no help at all. She suppressed a sigh. "Well, we interrogated Ponyryov. Thanks to Aburame-san, we were able to extract all the information he knew about Dolohov's movements and intentions, before healing the residual damage and using Aburame-san's unique skills to alter his memories. With any luck, Dolohov won't detect the tampering until its too late. I sent a squad to raid his dwelling."

"Go on."

"The bombing was Dolohov's plan. It seems that he has a lack of resources at present - this tallies with reports that Voldemort has committed the bulk of his western forces to the Balkans. We still don't know the reason - Ponyryov seemed to think it was simply to develop the war by bringing further territories under his control, and allying with the more hostile kingdoms there. I personally doubt it is something that simple - perhaps the old Voldemort would have done so, but not now. In any case, Dolohov has been left here to keep us tangled up so the plans can proceed further east."

Ron looked pensive. Harry was nodding. "Your analysis?"

Hermione grimaced. Much of her analysis was still merely conjecture, and she was unhappy with the idea of giving a half-baked answer. Still, she had a job to do. "Taken at face value, it suggests our efforts have been successful. The home front is essentially won, and we can now follow through with our international commitments. However, I still feel my initial hypothesis is correct. Remember, Guy Fawkes tried to blow up Parliament as a signal for the invasion of Britain to proceed. Rather than assume that the war at home is won, I think an invasion remains a possibility."

There was silence. Ron was pacing now. "So what, you think we shouldn't go ahead with the expeditionary force?"

Hermione looked annoyed. "No, that's not what I said. Invasion remains a possibility, and I therefore feel we cannot commit the bulk of our trained operatives to a foreign front..."

Ron shook his head. "So you'll leave the real fighting to the shinobi while we stay at home. Great, thanks. Why the hell did I go to all this trouble - "

She cut him off. "_Sir!_ Let me finish. We cannot commit the bulk of our operatives. It would be unreasonable to do so - not even Konoha would do so. I think we should focus on finding Dolohov, while sending out a smaller force to find out exactly what is going on in the Balkans. Perhaps a joint mission, five Specials, five Shinobi, with a further support team."

Ron looked ready to argue again. "Enough," said Harry. "I will consider your recommendations for the expedition and discuss them with the Minister. In the mean time, I think we should follow your first suggestion and find Dolohov. Ron, I want everyone we can spare on this."

Ron nodded. Harry looked at Hermione and Shino. "Thank you. I will see you later."

Hermione nodded, then left. Shino had already gone.

Ron turned to Harry. "She's too cautious. Harry, you know I'm right. Let me take a team there - me, Neville, Dean and a couple of others. I'll find out everything that's going on, and then we can make this thing move!"

Harry snorted. "And let you have all the fun? No, Ron. If there's a team going out there, it will be a big one. And I will lead it."

He smiled at his oldest friend. "Ask nicely, and I might even let you come!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Like you could do a thing without me there to hold your hand. I was running missions while you were locked up in that madhouse. You wouldn't be able to find the bathroom without me."

Harry laughed. "Oh really? Well, look who's all grown up, Mr. I'm-So-Scared-Of-Spiders..."

Behind the door, Hermione listened to her best friend argue with her boyfriend, and smiled. It was good to be together again.

* * *

><p>Neville cautiously edged to the door. Flicking his wand, he carefully unlocked it. Then he gestured to his team-mates.<p>

They burst in. Nothing. The room was empty.

Neville started shouting before he even understood why. "Out, out!"

They barely made it before the room exploded. Looking at the destruction, Neville cursed. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p><em>Damascus, Syria<em>

Panting, he staggered to a halt.

He looked behind him. The two men seemed to be conferring some way back, confused by the charm he had hastily laid to cover his escape. He desperately tried to regain his breath. The sun had long set, and the shadows overlaid the narrow path. _If I can make it to the base, they won't follow_, he thought. They weren't the kind of men to reveal themselves to ordinary people, he was certain of that.

Wand in hand, he began to pick his way along the path. The mountain was dangerous at night, for all that it lay on the outskirts of the city. No one used the narrow trails except for the soldiers, although he had once seen a foreigner mad enough to climb the slope from the slums at the base. The man could have died there, if not from falling, then from a bullet. Soldiers tended to shoot first in this area.

He saw the light in the watch hut, and it lifted his spirits. He was well-known to the soldiers, and had even taught one of them back at the school in the old Jewish quarter. The school was gone now, but his fondness for it was unchanged. The soldier had not been the sharpest, but he had always tried hard, forming the foreign words with great effort. His smile when he had gotten an answer right lit up his face like fireworks.

He walked in to the hut, and his greeting died on his lips. The five soldiers usually on duty were dead. Blood stained the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. He stumbled, looked down, and saw half of a man's face staring up at him. The eye accused him. _You brought this_, it said. _You brought this to us_.

"Yes, you did."

He looked up. Where the room had been empty, two men stood. They were opposites, one slim with fair hair, the other powerful, his dark red hair brushing past his shoulders. But their eyes...

Their eyes were hypnotic.

The fair-haired one spoke, his voice surprisingly deep. "They would not have died, had you not run to them. Their lives are on your conscience. Their suffering was caused by you."

He trembled as he raised his wand. "_Avada Kedavra!_". The curse shot towards the fair-haired man. Then it disappeared. Shocked, the wizard tried to curse him again, but the red-haired one was now behind him.

He was thrown to the floor, his wand broken. The red-haired one was speaking. "Don't be afraid. Life is cruel, and ultimately meaningless. There is no morality, no purpose, no reason. No matter how greatly we try, no matter how greatly we love, it will all be taken from us."

He looked at them. Their eyes shone brilliantly, the rings hypnotic, while the piercings glittered in the harsh light.

The red-haired man loomed over him, his partner beside. For a moment, the room was dark, then as the light returned, he saw five more people. All different in height, build and appearance. All with the same eyes.

He moistened his throat. "Please, just spare me. Please... I'll tell you everything. !"

The red-haired man stared back. His expression did not flicker. "Yes. You will. Eventually."

He knelt. "Welcome to Pain."

* * *

><p><strong>Extremely productive! I know it has been a while, but between losing passwords, files and track of the plot in Naruto (the five Kages and Crazy Sasuke arc just went on, and on, and on...) meant I didn't get much done. However, I'm on course now, and I think I'll have the bulk of the story finished this month.<strong>

**For those interested, I chose Dolohov because I thought he had character. I envisage him as a tough, middle-aged man, very dedicated to the cause, and absolutely loyal. I have no reason for the whole training thing, but I think it makes sense - Volde-maru's newfound shinobi abilities would have forced the wizards to step up if they wanted to stay top dogs, and Dolohov strikes me as someone who would have been raised in a hard manner, so probably already in good shape. For those interested, his work-out is actually a tribute to the Real Anime Training website - a fantastic resource if you want to become strong like a super-saiyan!**


	5. Chapter 5

When he returned to the apartment, Jiraiya was waiting.

"You went to the outpost?"

Kakashi nodded. "Where are the others?"

Jiraiya frowned impatiently. "Gone. I sent them home. And I'll be doing the same to you once you've finished your report. This is not a country for those who don't know it."

Kakashi sighed. The Toad Hermit was the most frustrating person he'd ever worked with. Still, he had a point. Syria was the worst place he had ever worked in.

"Your friend in the _Mukhabarat_ was very helpful. He gave me access to the SOI, showed me all the photos. They did a very thorough job there."

He went to take a seat. Jiraiya joined him. "You were right. It was Pain. The report mentioned six people, and the brutality fits with what Itachi has told us. Two people tracked the target, driving him towards the mountain. The others had already murdered the guards. What I don't understand is how they maintained surveillance, but Pain's powers are beyond my comprehension."

Jiraiya nodded. "The _Rinnegan_... Hard to believe, but if it combines the _Byakugan _and the _Sharingan_, then it's certainly possible."

They sat in silence. "So what are my orders, Jiraiya-san?"

Jiraiya looked at him flatly. "You know why I left the village for so long?"

Kakashi shook his head. The San-nin continued: "It wasn't for anything as high-minded as what you did. Assuming you really did what you say you did."

Before Kakashi could argue, Jiraiya was shaking his head. "Relax. I trust you. You were Minato's student, and that makes you like a son to me. You wouldn't have done what you did without a good reason. Itachi plays things close to the chest, but when you know his story, you know why."

Jiraiya took a sip from his glass of _arak_, then stared at the cloudy white liquid. "I left the village because there was nothing for me. Orochimaru was gone, Tsunade was gone, I'd lost my student... I never liked the way we did things. Oh, the Third was a great man, don't get me wrong, but I didn't agree with everything he did. And Danzo... Well, I don't like him, but he has a point. I'm no leader. I don't think in terms of grand strategies, or politics. That's not me. I do the job, and I do it well. But I was tired of being a soldier. Tired of following orders. So I walked. I took my skills, my training, and I did what I wanted. Or what I thought I wanted."

He looked at Kakashi. "I've failed at everything I tried. I couldn't stop my friend, I couldn't save my student or my teacher. I couldn't even tell the woman I love how I feel about her. Even now. I say I live my life with no regrets, but that's a lie. I have regrets. And I'll carry them to my grave."

He stood. "I'm going to find him. And if he is what I think he is, I have to be the one to kill him. So it comes to this: Hatake Kakashi, I order you to go to Britain. Find Naruto. Guard him. I will send a message when I'm done. Until then, do not let him out of your sight."

Kakashi stood. He was worried. Jiraiya was many things, but introspective was not one of them. He tried to be light-hearted. "You sound like it's your last battle. The San-nin won't be beaten so easily, surely."

Jiraiya laughed. "Beaten? Me? Listen boy, I'm invincible!"

* * *

><p><em>Two days later<em>...

Of all the methods wizards used to travel, Floo powder was Kakashi's least favourite. He had tried to persuade the operators at the Damascus International Transport Exchange to let him wait for the next magic carpet, but they had insisted.

After the dizziness, coughing and nausea wore off, he cleaned himself up as best he could. Leaving the arrival area, he walked to the exit. Luckily, someone from the Embassy was there to meet him.

Unfortunately, it was Naruto.

Kakashi sighed inwardly. Dealing with Sakura had been hard enough, but after Itachi had explained the situation, she had come to accept it. Naruto, on the other hand... Kakashi had been avoiding him since their reunion at that bizarre tower. He wasn't ready to talk to him about what happened.

_Who are you trying to fool? You lied to him. Your teacher's son, and you lied to him. You should have been there to protect_ him._ Not Sasuke._

Naruto was trying to play things cool. Trying, and failing. They walked in silence to the car, but Kakashi could see that something was bursting to come out. Finally, it came.

"Sensei! Sensei! You have to see this when we get there. I made the coolest new jutsu! It's amazing - so powerful it will even defeat you!"

Kakashi smiled underneath his mask. No matter what happened, Naruto would be Naruto. "I look forward to it."

* * *

><p>Jiraiya coughed, then spat out the blood. From the feeling in his chest, it was gathering in his lungs.<p>

He had separated Shima and Fukasaku from his body, dispatching each with a message. He had been unable to stay in Sage-mode since. The three bodies of Pain he had managed to take down were below him. As soon as he'd disabled them, he ripped out the antennae and burned out their eyeballs. He wasn't sure if it was enough.

_All or nothing now_. He concentrated. Entering Sage-mode without the couple was a big risk, but it was all he had. He could sense the approach of Yahiko and the other two bodies, slowed by the smoke and the genjutsu he had set up.

Entering Sage-mode was not really about staying still. It was a state of mind. You had to be both there and not there, alive and dead. To find that state of mindfulness where the mind is not longer. Jiraiya had always been bad at that. Staying still was the Guru's only method to allow him to learn.

The footsteps grew closer, and Jiraiya knew fear. Pain wouldn't just kill him. That would be far too easy. He would make him part of his whole. And that thought terrified him.

He pulled himself upright, and tried to regain his calm. Closer and closer they came, and with each step Jiraiya began to panic. _Is this it?_ _Is this how I die? _He was losing consciousness, he knew that. The blood in his lungs was starting to cause hallucinations. He could no longer see the tunnel, but a shifting landscape of his memories.

He thought of what he told Kakashi. He _had_ failed at everything he tried. Couldn't stop Orochimaru, always rejected by Tsunade. Minato, dead while he was away. Sarutobi-Sensei, dead because he hadn't stopped his friend when he had the chance. He thought he had a chance to beat Pain, to stop Akatsuki. _Yet another entry in my long list of failures. This isn't how the tale of the Gallant Ninja is supposed to end..._

_This story has been a waste of time._

"Come on, don't say that. I thought it was great!"

Stunned, Jiraiya looked up. He was in Konoha again, with Minato. His book had been a failure. But Minato, crazy fool that he was had liked it. So much so he had named his son after the main character.

He saw Orochimaru again, during their battle. He could hear himself say the words he had told him then. _The most important thing for a shinobi to have... is the spirit and guts to NEVER give up!_

Minato was there again.

_Am I dead?_

Minato smiled. "Not yet, sensei."

_I'm not a teacher. Really, you all taught me better than I taught you._

Minato was still smiling. "And what did you learn from us, sensei?"

_Never give up. Never surrender. Fight to the last breath. And protect those precious to you._

Minato nodded. "It's a good lesson."

_Yeah, it is._

_It really is._

He was back in the tunnel. Slowly, he rose to his feet. Yahiko and the two nameless shinobi walked through.

Jiraiya smiled at them. Here was death. And he was ready.

The moved suddenly, Yahiko using his abilities to draw his former teacher towards him while his companions readied their attack. Rather than fight it, Jiraiya moved with it. Then he felt it. The power of nature.

In full Sage-mode, he burst free of Yahiko's force. Before they could react, he charged at the closest body, pummelling it into nothingness with the full force of his Sage chakra. He turned to face the last two bodies.

"Come on, Nagato. I know you're here. I'm waiting for you!"

Gathering all his strength, he hurled himself at the remaining bodies, a giant Rasengan in each hand. The world went white...

_Yeah, that's it. That's how a shinobi dies_.

* * *

><p>Nagato slowly stalked towards the body of his former teacher. He had managed to get Yahiko's body away from the explosion, but the other had not been so lucky.<p>

Konan floated down on wings of paper. "Will you take his body as well, Nagato?"

Nagato considered it. "No. He may have been wrong, but he was our teacher. Let us leave him this tomb."

Turning, they left, accompanied by Yahiko's corpse.


End file.
